Panic - Escape From The Brain
by IZZY-CHAN13
Summary: MaxBradley AU. Becoming used to solitude, Bradley wanders into the mysterious depths of his subconscious during a night of fitful sleep.. (Writing originally completed in 2012; partially inspired by a tune of the same name)


Slithering, slithering. I'm hissing out a tune. I can understand them. I can understand them all.

… I know too much. How am I able to hold onto reality this way?

This state. I need help. Trying to reach for Forbidden Fruit

"Oh no you don't"—Someone slaps my hand away, "You never needed anyone. You know how your life has been all but filled with warmth… and other people that understand you as well as _I_ do."

The black void greets every step I take. He's still there, watching, but I see nothing but pitch tar in front of me. Amidst all the chaos my depraved mind conceives, each and every day… Another dreamless night. But sometimes I can have dreams. And, sometimes…

The invisible ground pulls out under me and I plummet into the depths.

Help.

White bursts in front of my watery eyes, wind pressed against me. A blinding light in ribbons. At this point I can't be too sure if they're going to caress me or run right through me—they do. But I feel no pain; the purity now tainted with red, making my surroundings pastel, then rose, the color of my feverish cheeks.

Down, down, down.

An all too familiar smell binds me, awakens me. I remember the artist's canvas, but I can never remember, falling into the viscosity of that fluid. Gasping for air as my head breaks the surface. The scent overpowering, making my heart race,

"Don't let me drown!" reaching out a hand to an absolute nothing. But I can feel His grip, and I know He's smiling as usual. I suddenly feel naked, or scantily clothed. I'm not sure. But now I'm pulled back to a solid foothold, dripping wet. Rough arms pull me in, holding on as tightly as possible. "Thank you."

It _feels_ like Love… I know differently. Everything is conditional. Nothing is for free. I feel myself under Him now. Nothing is for free.

Penetrated through and through. I don't even want to speak anymore, because I know what I know—

Everything's dissolved into a mist, a fog.

I'm back in my bed. The canopy is a welcome sight to me. Blue filtering from the light of a waning moon, cutting through heavy curtains at their center—

But I can't get back up.

I don't even want to look at His face in all the illumination. That same ticking of the clock fills the confines of my private lair.

"Don't" my voice reverting, returning to a time, "don't do this to me anymore"

I'm a kid again—Black and White!

I'm wallowing in defeat, ( _tick-tock, tick-tock_ ) just waiting for a response. A chuckle from a guttural throat. No matter what I do: "This is why I like you. Obedient, just like your parents raised you."

Ever since I tore myself open to the only one that would listen, _this_ has been happening to me all over again. But why?—

"Why?!" Even as I lift my head up for a passionate exchange of mouth and lip I'm teeming with rage. I'm no longer flowing with the current, but now it's gotten harder to breathe.

Dreams won't let you speak without paying the toll. His hands malformed to a slimy mass of veins and fat swirling around me, choking me. I'm back in the pitch again—then I see flashes of red—so quick—White noise before a high pitched shriek. I feel something underneath pulling me down. My instincts finally take over and I'm fighting for my life as the grown man, bellowing—shouting obscenities, not wanting to be caged like an animal—

"Oh Brad. This can all change." The tentacle gags me. "You shouldn't have said anything to that wretched kid! He knows too much… Let's go back to a happier time. The carefree nights, when everyone laid themselves on a silver platter, just for you. You were every man's role model; every woman's dream—They _adored_ you, laden with gold."

King of Diamonds. I saw myself on a screen high above my wild eyes, having the time of my mundane life. The cheers and pleasurable moans of my peers excited me. The one in the reeling frames. Now I only feel discontent towards my past actions. Biting down on the mouth's muzzle. I saw myself get wasted, pinned down by a swarm of lovers, giving each and every one of them my full, undivided attention—Chewing the gag away.

I was a Roman god to them. But now I looked at that same man as the lowest prostitute that ever stepped foot on campus soil. This so-called King was disgusting in my surgically enhanced eyes—I've spit out the tar,

"I _don't_ want to go back to _that_. Not anymore."

"Of course not. All _you_ want, is that _sniveling brat!_ "

The film reel interrupted the mood—Now what used to be foolishness on tape devolved to an obsession for flesh and ebony fur—that titillating physique. I wanting _everything_ that "brat" had to offer. I never let him go. I kept him locked up, a secret to all that knew me… Maximilian Goof.

He was my artist's canvas—And the paint, "His—"

I can't believe those words seeped out of my mouth so smoothly. It almost tasted bittersweet. But that wasn't my voice. Max was my pet… I remember treating him fairly—

"You lie to yourself. You enjoy watching people suffer. It fulfills your purpose… At least," I feel my spine tingle at His voice, frigid, "whatever's left of it."

"I don't want to do this anymore."

"Don't lie, you _son of a BITCH!_ "

A terrifying scream split my brain open—"FUCK!"

Pain coursed every which way, every organ about to burst—

The sudden cries pleading for mercy filled the abyss along with the snapping of fingers and the jeers of the crowd around me—

No! No! Please don't! Please _don't!_ I beg of you!

 _Shut the hell up!_

The contact of skin upon skin snapped all around in sickening waves. A laugh burst from nowhere, and I can't fathom its source. Now heavy grunts, repressing the kindled emotions of _lust_ , of Wrath—

A passion I want to forget.

My feet have become heavier and heavier in the same muck, in the same familiar smell. Metal. Copper.

I couldn't stop what happened to me that fateful day.

"Bradley! What are you—mmph!"

It wasn't my fault. I couldn't fight back! I was too young!

The LAST thing I wanted—

The fluid had reached my waist. Wading through the viscosity, the stench of—

A glint of a little friend painted her sorry face. After she had told everyone, I hunted her down…

Now, I'm nauseous. I want to throw up—"No more."

I didn't want to see the rest of them. All, but Him. The One.

Spying on myself in my regal robe—Air of complete arrogance—

The horns of Moloch! The Moonchild!

The Devil in me grabbed His sides in laughter, doubling over, arms and hands submerged into the river. I can't stop the sensation—the kick I get out of—

Now I'm crying. Suffering! I'm dying. " _I'm sorry!_ "

I never meant it. Stop the killing. Stop the killing.

"You have to get rid of him, Bradley. He's made you soft. And weak."

Something splashed in the liquid. And now I taste it. I'm bathing in a river of blood.

"You should have gotten rid of him that night! He's seen too much! _Get rid of him!_ "

I try to run from my own demented words, barely advancing as the fluid solidifies, "I _won't!_ Not him!"

"Why NOT?!"

I love him.

Everything went silent as the grave. The crust begins to crumble, falling pieces… His next word was a snarl, "Liar."

I'm teleported to a Hall of Mirrors. I don't want to see myself. I know what I'm going to see. I know who's there. I run blindly, trying to find its end—

"Stupid fuck."

I love him.

"All you'll ever want. Run away. Hide what you can never get rid of. But you don't love him."

The glass shatters and its shards fly through the air, ripping my bare skin. I cover my face to at least keep my vision, finding the end that can never be found.

I know I can't.

"He's good for one thing only, Brad. Let him help you with your… natural desires."

I tripped over something heavy. A pile of…

"You knew this was coming." My own self slammed a foot on the carcasses and smirked at my scarred body. I breathe heavily before he pounces on the lumpy mattress, "He's just another."

A natural born predator. He knows my fear, tongue against incisors—horribly amused. Another flash of red in steely orbs with a slit for a pupil, "What's wrong, Bradley?"

Are you afraid? _I've changed._ Coward. _I don't need this anymore._ You can't change the past. You can't erase your mistakes. _No, but I can and have changed._

He chuckles a bit before leaning in. I know what He's expecting of me and I inch away as far as possible, "You're NOT having me. It's not right."

"You sound like a pathetic child. Now," freezing hand touching my cheek, "Where's that handsome devil that they all enjoy? You're willing to give up _pleasure_ for something that doesn't exist?"

I flinch.

"How… masochistic of you. I expected far better—

"Shut it!" The point of the weapon is right at my throat. Small pinch as a warning, "No. _You_ will listen to ME."

. . . . .

I'm a coward.

Lips planted firmly on the spot where the dagger left a small incision,

"You're coming with Me either way, Bradley." A tiny gasp.

Now I'm choking up. _… What?_ I gulp down another chunk of phlegm. _It can't be!_

"There's no Hope left; you've lost your chance a long, LONG time ago. All that's left of your precious 'Angel' is a rotting corpse!" Don't say that. " _You've_ brought him down! _You_ are the one responsible for your own demise! You're _alone_ , Brad! _It's over!_ "

DON'T SAY THAT!

Morbid, mocking laughter rang in my ears hours after shooting out of the silk sheets.

I couldn't stop the shaking! Back into fetal position—

Can't stop, can't stop…

" _Over?_ "

OVER?!


End file.
